


Subterfuge

by auroreanrave



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Meddling, Meddling Friends, Romantic Gestures, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein friends prove to be meddlesome and correct in equal measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subterfuge

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of fluff that was intended for Valentine's Day, but got waylaid.

"What have you done." Derek intones as he looks about his apartment. It's not even a question, it's a statement, as if Stiles has any clue about what the hell is going on in Derek's hellhole, step-up-from-an-abandoned-train-station loft apartment that doesn't have stable WiFi and smelt like wet dog more often than not.

To be fair, Stiles just... takes it better than Derek does. The apartment has been... transformed is the most accurate, although Stiles thinks that 'desecrated', 'ruined' and 'disrupted' are the options flitting through Derek's ridiculously attractive head. Stiles is used to change, to the unexpected. He can roll with the punches. Kind of.

There are dozens of candles of different sizes and shapes dotted all around the apartment, stuffed onto every coffee table or counter or nook, and they're even all pale and unscented so as not to give Derek a case of the grumpies. Not that he needs help in that department, at all. The man practically bathes in a cologne of children's tears and stale food and broken promises.

Stiles almost laughs at the rose petals though. They're fucking everywhere, in a weird half-scattered, half-tossed circle around the kitchen area and the couch that _screams_ Scott getting distracted by Danielle's ass. _Fucking Scott_.

Derek crosses the room and snatches a sheet of ruled paper that had been taped lazily over a pillar, bright pink sparkly arrow drawn on the paper drawing their attention. Stiles sees a box of chocolates - not top brand, but pretty decent - on Derek's bedside table and he is instantly struck with the image of Derek in bed, watching something like Beaches and cramming caramels into his mouth by the handful as tears stream down his face and he snorts, shaking with laughter.

"Do you know something about this?" Derek rounds on him, one corded, muscular arm pounding onto the pillar Stiles is leaning against so Derek is close against him. Like... really close. He can actually smell Derek - which, wow, role reversal much? - and he smells really good. Not like miserable children at all, more like... mint and woodsmoke and God Stiles needs to stop drooling like now. Stiles recovers from his laughter, straightens uo

"Not a thing, dude. I promise. Scouts' honour."

"Like you were _ever_ in the Scouts." Derek snorts, haughtily.

"Good point. Fine, Alpha's honour or whatever passes for honour in the lycanthropic kind like your good self."

Derek rolls his eyes and addresses the note, which is written in the same pink sparkly ink as the arrow, reading from it. "'Hey, guys. This is a little something from us to you. Hope you make good use of it. Love...'" Derek trails off, squinting at the names a little and Stiles leans over to try and decipher the names. He can see Scott, Allison, Danielle, Kira, Isaac, Boyd, a couple of others'... and Lydia's is prominent at the bottom. It's even her pen. _Jesus_.

"What are they planning on?" Stiles wonders aloud and finds more 'gifts' scattered around the apartment - vouchers for fancy Thai takeout in the kitchen, a trial Netflix subscription card on top of Derek's TV, and... apparently, _sex toys_ in the drawer under Derek's bed. _Wow_.

Stiles' eyes pop out a little in his head when he sees all that because inappropriate boners around Derek are hard enough - no joke intended - without the active sight of sexual paraphenalia which Stiles may or may not have viewed online late at night.

"Huh." Stiles feels the huff of warm breath against his neck and shivers as Derek leans over him to assess the box. "I was needing some new stuff anyway."

And Stiles' brain chooses that moment to short circuit _entirely_ , followed a second later by Derek sniffing at his neck, and the idea of stopping a hard-on in this situation now seems as likely as stopping a runaway train by blowing on the wheels. Wait, not _blowing_. _Shit_.

"What is - _what_ \- ?" Stiles blurts out, because now Derek's arms are encircling his waist and his mouth is pressed right against the side of Stiles' neck.

"I know. Okay? Me too." Derek, without extracting himself from Stiles' back, slides the notte to Stiles, turning it over so that a simple message in black Sharpie stood out.

' _He feels the same way, Derek. Don't be a butthead. Just let him know. --Scott._ ' Scott, Stiles thinks in a flash, is a goddamned _saint_ and a _genius_.

He's about to retort when Derek spins him around, hands tight on Stiles' arms and kisses him, hot and slick and achingly passionate and Stiles kisses him back because they deserve this and it's a good thing they did this by the bed because they tumble onto it seconds later, lips ablaze and hands wriggling for bare skin.

They end up using everything their friends left for them.

Except for the Thai takeout vouchers; they decide to go Dutch on pizza instead.


End file.
